New Baby
by Lucyinthesky1996
Summary: Kid!Sherlock. Sherlock and John are adopted and live with Mr and Mrs Lestrade. Sherlock is jealous, however, when there is a new addition to the family and John seems more interested in the baby than him. Amongst all this, Sherlock is harbouring a secret that could destroy his relationship with John completely.
1. Chapter 1

"Why do people have babies?"

This question confused me and I stopped writing my homework assignment to stare at Sherlock, who was sitting grumpily on his bed, glaring at anything that came under his eye. I was confused over who he was speaking to; whether it was me or the wall or to Anderson – though that was doubtful as Anderson was only a toddler.

"What did you say?"

"Why do people have babies?" Sherlock repeated with equal bitterness, "Why did Mr Lestrade and his wife decide to have another one?"

"They didn't _have_ Anderson Sherlock, they adopted him. Like they adopted us"

"Yes but why do they need another one, aren't we enough?"

I frowned at him, confused. Sherlock had never been happy about Anderson's arrival. Anderson was small and scrawny but seemed to be the most winning thing that had ever been brought into the house. He was cute in the face, with large handsome dark eyes, but equally fair skin and small features, and black curling hair. His spirit was high, and he always smiled. His anger was never fierce and tantrums were rare; I never heard him crying for more than a half hour. And I think that's exactly why Sherlock hated him. I was the opposite. I'd warmed to Anderson straight away and busied myself in caring for him when our foster parents were absent – after all, I'd always longed for a baby sibling. Sherlock would keep to the shadows and refuse to join in.

"They thought it'd be nice having a baby around" I told him, "Seeing as Mrs Lestrade can't have any of her own"

Anderson, who followed me everywhere now, was sitting near me in the room, chewing his silver bell, a gift from our foster mother.

"Ridiculous" Sherlock snapped, "Just another mouth to feed."

I ignored this remark. Sherlock Holmes in a bad mood was not a good road to go down. He kept his gaze fixated on Anderson, with a look that could kill.

When he thought I had my back turned, he quickly reached over and shoved Anderson in the back, so the littleun fell forward and almost broke his brow. The action didn't deceive my eyes, as I knew he was doing this to spite me rather than to cause any injury to the infant.

"Sherlock, how_ could_ you?" I stood appalled at the sight of the bellering child and went and stood him upright.

"He fell" Sherlock said sourly, arms folded, "It was an accident"

"You pushed him right over!" I snapped, kissing away the smear of blood that had appeared on young Anderson's temple, "I _saw_ you"

Impelled by the angry spirit within him, Sherlock marched over and suddenly slapped my cheek, a stinging blow that made both eyes fill up with water. This shocked me, as Sherlock had never laid a hand on anyone in his life.

I covered the patch of red skin in shock at the act of violence my so called friend and foster brother had just committed, "That was a rotten thing to do!"

"I don't care" he snapped, "Get out John, I don't want you here!"

Little Anderson, infected by the emotion in the room, resorted to crying himself, sobbing out complaints at Sherlock who snarled in his temper and began shaking him roughly.

"Stop, stop, you'll _kill_ him!" I cried out in my fright and lay hold of his hands; managing with the small amount of strength I had from my skinny little arms to prise him away from the littleun, "What's the matter with you? He's done nothing wrong!"

"Nothing wrong?" in an instant, he forgot about the wailing mite on the floor and turned the full blown force of his anger on me, "Nothing wrong! He was _born_! Isn't that wrong enough?"

"That wasn't his fault! Why must you be so hateful towards him?"

He turned his back on me, "If you enjoy _his_ company rather than mine John, you can take him away with you!"

For a moment, I was mute.

"I mean it!" he spun round again like a whirling dervish, "Take him away with you! I don't want to see any of you again! _He's _your new friend now and I hope he can show you all the companionship I was apparently unable to provide!"

I stared at him, wandering if he'd gone mad. He folded his arms again, sulkier this time, his back still turned.

"Leave the room John" he said plainly and with no regret.

I turned away quickly, waiting until my eyes were less moist before picking up Anderson off the floor and saying my goodbyes in a subdued voice. Sherlock said nothing in return, just sniffed at me and sick of his ill mood, I left him to rot in his own sorrow. I took Anderson down to the kitchen and seeing as Mr. Lestrade was absent, sat down in the rocking chair with the child on my lap and proceeded to lull him to sleep. Sherlock's present mood was only natural. His parents had died when he was small and his brother had left him to fend for his own before Mr. Lestrade had adopted him. It was only normal for him to feel threatened by the new addition to the family. But it pained me to know that Sherlock wasn't Sherlock anymore. The Sherlock I knew wasn't violent or foul mouthed or miserable. I remembered the slap and my eyes watered again, for the loss of my good friend and surrogate brother. Anderson, who by now knew what crying was and its purpose, lifted a tiny arm to wipe the tears away. They flowed, undisturbed, but I appreciated the gesture and leant down to kiss his sore little brow. Being forced to choose my friends was a hazy task but the willing person inside me told me I'd chosen right.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock didn't come down for dinner that night, nor was he at breakfast the next morning. This didn't worry my foster parents as Sherlock more then often would skip meals, saying food slowed him down. I knew the real reason though. He didn't want to see me. Through his eyes I'd betrayed him, I'd chosen the baby over him. I hadn't said anything to Mr. Lestrade about the slap or Sherlock pushing Anderson over. I was angry at my foster brother but that anger didn't turn me into a snitch.

The Lestrade's house was much bigger on the inside. It was a warm and wealthy environment, suitable for children to run around in. The walls always smelt of newly lain paint and disinfectant lingered in the air, as Mrs Lestrade cleaned often. The ceiling was decorated with oriental flowers and I and Sherlock would sometimes spend hours lying on the floor, identifying each rare species. The floor was so clean you could see your face in it, it was sleek and solid. I loved that house. It made me feel like part of the family.

At noon, Mr. Lestrade left for work (he was a detective inspector down at Scotland Yard) and Mrs. Lestrade decided to go and do some shopping. I insisted I'd been fine staying at home with Sherlock and Anderson by myself but she thought it was best to call Jim Moriarty, the boy across the street, to keep an eye on things. Jim Moriarty was almost thirteen and I couldn't stand him. He was a tall, taunting figure. His black hair kept falling into his eyes, making him all the more sinister. He always called me _Johnny_, something which drove me up the wall. What apalled me most was that Sherlock actually liked having him around.

"He's not my friend" he'd told me, "You're my only friend. But he's an advantage to us John. He likes playing my games and solving my puzzles. But he's smart and he's a tough nut to crack. It's all an experiment John, all an experiment"

I decided to keep myself scarce in case Jim decided to make me victim of one of his childish pranks again. I took Anderson to the living room and let him play on the floor with his silver bell for a while, whilst I finished the homework assignment I'd been distracted from the previous day. I could hear shuffling coming from around me and uncertain whether it was Sherlock or not, I paid no heed to it. Mr Holmes was still in my bad books and he would be so until he grew up and came to apologise.

I heard someone coming down the stairs to the living room, and I knew the footsteps not to be Sherlock's. They were light and shuffling, with a small jump to them. I ignored Jim Moriarty's presence behind me and lifted Anderson off the floor and cradled him close on my lap, my overprotective mothering instinct beginning to grow over. I attempted to rock him to sleep and distract myself from the unwanted attention at the door, but he too has sensed the intruder and insisted on craning his head round my shoulder to see who had entered. My focus was disturbed by a cough.

"Sherlock's not here" I said quickly.

I waited for the footsteps to announce his departure, but there were none and he hung around sullenly like a vulture. Deciding it was best to disregard his presence, I turned my attention back to Anderson who'd become restless and was moaning at me to entertain him. He was like that, Anderson. Almost like a miniature Sherlock, happy and dandy one hour and a fussy brat the next. But you loved him for that, the aggression only made you adore him all the more. After a moment of admiring the little fusspot, I became sensible to Jim's presence; he had not uttered a word since his arrival, merely hovered in the background observing us both like a simple pup. I decided it was time to grow a backbone. Ignoring him would have no effect, he'd only stay longer. It infuriated me just knowing I was in the same room as that back stabbing wretch. Sherlock may have seen him as an advantage but I thought he was nothing but an intolerable curse. Sooner or later my foster brother would see him for the low animal he was. I was almost certain of that.

"What do you want?" I asked coldly

"_Johnny_" his tone was patronizing, "That's no way to talk to an old friend"

"You're not my friend"

"Such a bitter mind. You wound me" he twisted his face into a fake pout, "I don't understand why we can't just get along" he came and put his hand on my arm, something which drove me half to insanity.

"Push off" I muttered to him, taking Anderson in my arms and going into the hallway away from him. I went to the top of the stairs and onto the large landing, which overlooked the hallway below. I loved the landing, I loved leaning over the banisters and feeling like I was in a palace, peering down onto the clean, polished floor below.

Jim danced after me.

"You can't escape Johnny boy. Remember, _I'm_ in charge"

I sighed and sat Anderson down on the floor, letting him crawl off, "So what? You can't control me. This is _my_ house"

"No it's not. You're just adopted. You don't have any parents"

Had I been a violent person, I would have punched him, "Mr and Mrs Lestrade are as good as" I said through gritted teeth.

"You're just a stupid orphan. But you're the lucky one, your folks just died. Sherlock's rents didn't even _want_ him. They just dumped him here and legged it. Mind you, can't really blame them can you? I mean, who'd want to live with that freak-?"

When I said I wasn't a violent person, I meant I wasn't violent unless somebody seriously disrespected my friend. I pushed Jim Moriarty heavily in the chest so he fell backwards and cracked his head against the floor, but being the sneaky devil he was he kicked out his foot and knocked my feet from beneath me. He tussled for a while, rolling about like animals before I shoved him off and looked about hastily.

"Stop!" I hissed, realising Anderson was no longer present, "Where's the baby?"

Jim glanced over his shoulder, for a second he seemed mildly concerned of the baby's whereabouts but quickly dismissed that expression, "He's not a newborn anymore, he can fend for himself"

"Don't catch your breath!" my eyes lit up in alarm, "There!"

I pointed to the staircase where an oblivious Anderson was leaning under the banisters, dangling his sliver bell over the side. I screamed out in fright and Jim sprang up, running arms out towards the littleun, but startled by the noise, Anderson dipped forwards and lost his balance completely. Jim only just managed to touch him before he slipped out of his grasp and hurtled forward towards the concrete floor below.


	3. Chapter 3

I waited for the sickening crunch of a baby's skull hitting the floor below. In those scarce seconds I could already hear Mr. Lestrade's voice, pained and full of disappointment at the thought of John Watson- whom he'd trusted with his baby- allowing the child to wander off and fall to their death whilst he stood there watching and not moving a muscle. No sound came however, and from the edge of the banisters, Jim let out a sound that I couldn't identify as a laugh or a sob. I joined him at the top of the staircase and as I peered down below, saw the beaming face of Anderson staring up at me, wandering what on earth his brother John was crying about. It seemed just before the fall Sherlock had departed from the kitchen, returning a tray of glasses which he'd borrowed for an experiment when he'd heard the dreadful din occurring from the top of the stairs. He must have assumed it was just I and Jim bickering again but upon seeing the baby practically dangling from the banisters, instinct told him to fling the tray aside and pass underneath in time to catch the child before he hit the ground.

Sherlock was holding Anderson at arms length, his expression a mixture of shock and possibly relief, though I may have been mistaken. I held my breath, wandering if at any point he'd change his mind and allow the child to drop onto the floor. He didn't, he remained there as if frozen, never blinking or taking his gaze off the infant. Anderson, oblivious to the drama he'd caused, was happily gurgling in Sherlock's hold, excited by this new face. I heard Jim give out a shaky laugh, and it was only then that Sherlock turned his head up to us and said;

"Well? Aren't you going to take it from me?"

I snapped back into the real world and hurried down the stairs to where they were standing, checking for any sign of injury on Anderson's little body. There were none, thank goodness, though his silver bell was a little dented due to the dramatic impact with the floor. Sherlock wrinkled his nose in disgust and quickly handed the baby back to me, trying to busy himself by tidying away the broken glass that lay shattered across the floor behind him. But it was too late. I'd seen that look in his eye. He couldn't deny it now, I'd seen.

* * *

I pondered over whether to tell the Lestrades about the incident, knowing they'd probably never allow Jim to babysit again if I did. But like I said, I'm not a snitch.

I didn't see Sherlock for a while after he'd cleared up the mess. He went straight upstairs and to his room again, which was disappointing after such a heroic act of chivalry. He missed dinner again, so that evening I went and sat on the chair by the fire with Anderson whilst Mrs. Lestrade did the dishes. I had managed to press the silver bell back into place but he'd somehow forgotten it and was more interested in playing with my hair.

I heard someone come into the room, too light footed to be Mr. Lestrade or his wife. I knew those footsteps all to well. Slow and reserved but with a lively pace to them.

I expected Sherlock to waver a little, then get bored and skulk away to his room again. That's what he normally did. He stayed, however, and came and sat next to me, copying my body language. We didn't speak.

Then I heard him mutter, "You look tired"

I shrugged, rubbing my eyes. He nibbled his lip in an attempt to create conversation, something he wasn't very good at. His eyes kept switching from me to the baby uneasily and he rubbed the tips of his thumbs together.

"…why don't you give me Anderson and you can go and rest a while by the fire?"

I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. Surely Sherlock Holmes hadn't_ really_ said that. No…it must have been the sleep taking over. It was making my hearing faulty. But Sherlock kept staring at my face, awaiting an answer. I laughed.

"Put a child in _your_ arms? I'd be surprised if you didn't drop him!"

"I've held him before-"

"Before you tried to _experiment_ on him that is"

"That's not true"

I sniffed at him, but by now the weariness had taken all the arguing style out of me and I decided his solution would be for the better. The entrance of our foster parents ended our conversation and I went and curled up by the heat of the fire whilst Sherlock took my place on the chair and nursed Anderson for a while. After a moment of watching them through half shut eyelids, I confirmed my suspicions. I _knew_ Sherlock would warm to Anderson eventually; he held him with no force or difficulty, just calmly and gently like our foster mother did. His lips were twitching, the sides of his mouth curling upwards as if he intended on smiling. It made him look like a little mother. Anderson was not bothered by the change of faces and was perfectly happy to be handled by his older brother.

I grinned weakly at Sherlock's bemused expression as Anderson reached up and grabbed a lock of his hair, tugging at it fondly. Yawning, I curled up next to my foster brother and gently put my head on his lap, which he responded to by gently sinking his fingers into my tussle of hair. Anderson started giggling heartedly and I muttered before the sleep took me.

"I think he likes you"


	4. Chapter 4

"Tell me about your parents Sherlock"

At first there came no reply as he was busy feeding Anderson. We were both in the garden because Mrs Lestrade was busy cleaning the house, and this had been my first speech.

"There is nothing to tell" he replied at last, "They died. That's it"

I scratched the back of my head nervously, "Jim said they abandoned you"

He stiffened and pulled the bottle away from Anderson's lips though the littleun still whined in hunger. I could hear his breathing getting slower.

"Sherlock...?"

"There's nothing to tell" he repeated, "Jim Moriarty is a liar."

"Sherlock-"

"A _liar_!" he said it so fiercely he startled little Anderson, who started crying and reaching out for me. Sherlock allowed me to take the baby from him - in fact he barely noticed him go - as his fists were clenched and his eyes were beginning to glass over.

"Sherlock?" I kept the tone of my voice soft, "Are your parents still alive?"

He let out a breath of air which told a story of past troubles, "Yes…and no. They're still alive. But to me they are dead. It's always been that way"

"What happened?" I started rocking Anderson on my knee to soothe his crying.

Sherlock stared at the dark haired infant in my arms but not with a look of hatred. A look of pity and regret even.

"Mummy had a baby" he said quietly, his voice cracking at the word 'baby', "So I ran away…" he trailed off and swallowed down the sob within him, "They _did _want me!" he said with full determination, "Jim's got it all wrong! They wanted me, but I didn't want them!"

"What did you do?"

"I ran away. They found me but I told them I didn't want to live with them anymore. My older brother had already cleared off so they sent me here…"

I felt a wave of guilt wash over me. No wander…

"That's why you hated Anderson…" I said quietly, "Isn't it?"

Sherlock shrugged, "I suppose…"

I felt like a fool. Why was I only just hearing about this now? Was I really such an irresponsible companion that I didn't even know how much my best friend was aching inside?

"Sherlock…" I curled our fingers together.

He refused to let the tears fall, "_Nobody_ wants me..."

"_We_ want you Sherlock" I squeezed his hand, "And don't you dare think for a minute we don't"

Anderson ceased crying and held onto his hand also.


	5. Chapter 5

"Sherlock! Sherlock! Come quick!"

"What is it?"

I beamed at my foster brother and lifted Anderson onto his feet, "Do it again Anderson! Show Sherlock what you just did!"

Anderson blinked at me, before grinning and resting his head against the floor. He kicked his legs up so he was balancing on his arms, doing the perfect handstand. Sherlock folded his arms, unimpressed.

"So? What's so special about that?"

"He's never done it before"

"Lots of people can do handstands"

"Not at_ his_ age!"

"I sometimes wander what it's like to be you John. So amused at the simplest of things"

"I just think he's very skilled for his age" I said, as Anderson snuck wolfishly behind Sherlock's legs, "You should give him a bit more credit Sherl, he's very talented"

"It all depends on what your definition of 'talented' is" Sherlock said, turning to walk out the door again.

He didn't get far, as the crafty little Anderson had managed to tie his shoelaces together. Sherlock lost his balance and ended up on the floor. I snorted with laughter as he sat up on his elbows, his cheeks a little pink.

"Very funny" he mumbled, as Anderson sat beside him on the floor and planted a slobbery kiss on his cheek.

"_See_ Sherlock?" I giggled, "He's smarter than you think"


	6. Chapter 6

"I'm surprised you haven't found a way to get rid of it yet" Jim said to Sherlock, as we watched Anderson playing near us in the garden, "Why didn't you just let it fall? Would have knocked it out nice and quickly"

Sherlock didn't reply to this comment, but it infuriated me. I still couldn't understand why Jim's parents couldn't have left him with Mrs. Hudson next door and not dumped him with us while they went to London for the day.

I narrowed my eyes at him, "You were as worried as I was Jim, I saw"

"I wasn't. I wouldn't have cared if it'd cracked its brains all over the floor"

"Shut up, that's disgusting. And stop saying 'it'. He has a gender"

"Whatever" Jim got up and went over to the toddler, who was busy chewing on his toy rabbit by the sandpit.

When the littleun was least expecting it, Jim kicked his feet out from underneath him so he fell onto his back. The child whined and tried to crawl away but Jim then went to pressing his foot on the small of Anderson's back, making escape impossible. Anderson started sobbing as the pressure got harder and he was pushed into the ground. I leapt to my feet, ready to saunter over and whack him one, but I was beaten to it.

Before I knew it, Sherlock was on his feet and had shoved Jim heavily in the chest, so he toppled backwards and landed on his back. He lifted Anderson with the greatest care and held him in his arms for a few seconds, checking for any serious damage. When satisfied, he didn't object when Anderson started rubbing their cheeks together while Jim shook the dirt out of his hair. Sherlock noticed him move.

"_Never_ pick on my brother again" his voice was calm but icy, "Okay?"

We both looked the child over again just in case he was injured. Neither of us saw Jim's glare or heard the whispered words as he picked himself off of the floor.

"What?" Sherlock asked, when he saw me staring at him, "There's nothing to be surprised about John. What kind of boy wouldn't stand up for his own baby brother?"


	7. Chapter 7

"Joohhnn! Sherlock said my head looked like a watermelon but with a bad haircut!"

I sighed. Anderson was almost six now and once he had learnt to speak in full sentences, there was no stopping him. He and Sherlock were constantly bickering, seeing who could get the better of the other.

"Sherlock" I said, lifting Anderson onto my lap, "Remember what dad said about teasing Anderson?"

Sherlock didn't reply. His face was hidden behind a book of astronomy but judging by his heaving shoulders, he was silently snorting with laughter.

"Sherlock…"

He lowered the book so I could see his face and fixed me with a look of complete innocence, "Yes John?"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes John. And dad _also_ told us to always be honest. So I was"

Anderson cried and buried his face into my shirt.

"You are so _mean_ Sherlock" I said, digging into my pocket for an ancient piece of tissue so Anderson could blow his nose, "He's only a child"

"_Not_ a child!" Anderson said grumpily, pouting up at me, arms folded.

"You are too, now blow" I pressed the tissue against his nose.

I suppose Anderson saw me as a sort of second dad now. He literally followed me everywhere and when I wasn't there he'd start crying and wander around until he'd found me. He was even beginning to grow on Sherlock, who after the Jim Moriarty incident refused to let the littleun out of his sight. He never expressed his love in a physical way; I don't think he knew how to. He felt awkward hugging and kissing; in fact any physical contact made his cheeks heat up. But you could tell he loved him, his voice and expression would always change when the child was around. It was like a different Sherlock, a kinder, happier one.


	8. Chapter 8

"Do you ever miss your parents Sherlock?"

He shrugged, stretching furthur out on the floor like a long, thin cat. We were all on the floor, we couldn't be bothered to sit in chairs. It was a cold winter night and the Lestrade's had turned on their electric fire so we all curled on the rug next to it together; me, Sherlock and Anderson. Anderson was asleep next to me, knees up to his chin so he looked like a little cat. I smiled at him then turned back to Sherlock to see if he would answer my question properly. He met my eyes.

"Sometimes…" he replied, "…but there's no point dwelling on it. They don't want anything to do with me, so I should keep out of their way"

"I'm sure they still care about you"

He went quiet and stared down at Anderson who was twitching in his sleep. He often did that, he was probably having a nightmare again. Sherlock reached down and started stroking his thick black hair until the twitching ceased and he went quiet again.

"Who ever wanted to give up something as precious as him?" he asked quietly.

"People do strange things" I replied.

"I don't understand it. Why have children if you don't want to keep them?"

"Sometimes parents just can't cope. That's just how it is."

"You'd make a great dad John" Sherlock leaned back beside me and against the golden heat of the fire, he looked beautiful.

I laughed, "I'll probably never be a dad. No one would have me"

He frowned, "That's not true"

"No one likes a small kid. The girls would probably all go for you, you're tall and…" I trailed off, not wanting to say anything that would embarrass myself.

"No one would have _me_" he replied, "no one likes a freak"

"Ignore Jim, he's an idiot. And you're smarter than he'll ever be so take no notice"

His lips twitched into a smile and for a second his eyes seemed to glass over. He leaned over and gently kissed me on the cheek. I blushed, the redness reaching the tips of my ears. It was a small, chaste kiss. But still, it warmed me like no fire could.

He pulled away and the smile stretched further, "I don't know what I'd do without you John"

At that moment, Mr. Lestrade walked into the room and Anderson jolted awake, eyeing us all wearily. I smiled at our foster father's entrance but he didn't meet my eyes. He looked uncomfortable.

"Sherlock…" he said quietly, and I could see there was a brown envelope in his hands, "This came for you"

Sherlock frowned and Anderson started sucking his thumb anxiously as he took the envelope and examined the handwriting. Mr. Lestrade glanced at his wife and added;

"It's from your parents"


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock disappeared for a while and didn't come down to dinner (as usual.) I guessed he was reading and re-reading his letter over and over, wandering if it really was from them, his parents. I wanted to go up to see him but Mr. Lestrade suggested it was best to give him the space he needed. I suppose he was right. Sherlock didn't like to show any emotion, and if he ever did it was by accident.

I distracted myself by playing hide and seek with Anderson and it was only when I was winning that I heard small footsteps on the stairs and the sound of the kitchen door opening and closing again. I decided this time to go after Sherlock; he needed me more than ever now. I saw him go out into the back garden, to the shed where Mr. Lestrade kept his tools. This deemed some suspicion, as we were forbidden to go anywhere near that shed. I knew Sherlock didn't give a damn about the rules, but even _he_ didn't cross Mr. Lestrade. Something was up.

He went inside and I followed him, pressing my ear against the door to hear what he was doing. There was movement going about inside, something being pulled across the floor. Something heavy and metal by the sound of it. I pushed the door open and found Sherlock with one of the vises Mr. Lestrade owned. He had his arm in it and was slowly turning the handle, making it tighter.

"Sherlock!"

He jumped and his arm jerked to the side, a soft crack escaping from his elbow. I grimaced and went and pulled it free, impelled by the angry and frightened feeling within me to push him over.

"What the _hell_ were you doing?" I yelled, forgetting to mind my language.

Sherlock said nothing. He shook his useless arm, silently examining it.

"Is it broken?" he asked in a dry voice.

I sighed, forgetting my anger and felt about his elbow, in search for any damaged bones.

"No, just dislocated"

"Damn..." he muttered, disappointed, getting back up to his feet and cursing to himself.

"What were you_ doing_ Sherlock? You could have really hurt yourself! Dad doesn't let us in here for a reason!"

"I was trying to break it" he said sullenly, as if it were a perfectly normal thing, "But it didn't work"

"Why the _heck_ would you try to break your own arm?" I wasn't angry anymore. My eyes had glassed over and there were tears on my cheeks, "Why would you do that to yourself?"

He watched me as I sat on the floor and started sobbing, something about the idea of someone trying to harm themselves disturbed me and I couldn't stop the tears from flowing. I cried into my knees, ignoring him as he came and sat beside me and touched my head awkwardly.

"John…? John, I'm sorry…" for a second he actually sounded apologetic.

He didn't have a tissue of any sort, so he dabbed at my eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. We sat in silence for a moment, whilst I ran out of tears and he gently prodded at his bad arm.

"My parents want to see me"

I peered up at him, "They do? Sherlock, that's wonderful"

"I don't want to see them. I told you, they're dead to me"

"But Sherl, they're your_ parents_"

"So?"

"So you should give them another chance "

"They don't want me. They have their other kid. My social worker is taking me to see them this weekend but if I break my arm I won't have to go"

"Sherlock, you _idiot._ You can't do that, it'd hurt! And besides, just because they have another one doesn't mean they don't want you. I felt the same way when my little sister was born. I don't even get to see her now and I wish I could."

I could feel my eyes glassing over. Sherlock tried to put an arm around me but I pushed him away, angry again.

"You're so ungrateful Sherlock; you're always going on about how terrible your life is when it isn't. You're lucky your parents are still alive, you're lucky you have a little brother you can see whenever you want. I can't ever see Harry, they won't let me. I thought I was good enough for you but it's obvious I'm not. You won't accept Anderson and you won't accept me. So I apologise if I wasn't a good enough brother to you. And if you want to break your arm then fine. I won't stop you. See if I care!"

I allowed water to spill over my eyes and left the shed quickly. As soon as I was in the house and in my room I threw myself on my bed and started crying, clawing my fingers into the bed sheets intent on tearing a hole in the middle. Little Anderson passed by in the hall and saw me with my face pressed into the mattress and thinking we were playing a game, pulled himself onto the bed and buried his face also, letting out a chorus of fake cries to accompany mine. I laughed, but the pain remained undeterred. I sat myself up and realising my tears had been real, Anderson plopped onto my lap and began patting my face lovingly.

"Was Sherlock mean to you?" he asked, playing with a strand of my hair.

"No" I replied, rubbing my red eyes, "He just upset me a bit that's all"

"I don't like it when Sherlock is sad"

"Neither do I"

"John…is Sherlock leaving us?"

"What? Of course not, what gave you that idea?"

"I heard Mummy and Daddy talking. These people want to take Sherlock away to live with them forever. I don't want Sherlock to go"

My eyes welled up again, when I realised what a blind idiot I had been. No wander Sherlock was desperate not to go. He couldn't stand the thought of leaving us.

I sighed and pulled Anderson closer to me.


	10. Chapter 10

"Sherlock, I'm sorry I overreacted, can we please be friends again?"

I sighed, feeling an idiot and turned to Anderson, "A bit too vague?"

He nodded, stuffing another fruit gum into his mouth, though I highly doubt he even knew what "vague" meant. I'd been pacing up and down outside Sherlock's room for ages trying to summon up the courage to go in and apologise. We hadn't spoken for days and it was driving me crazy. The problem was, I didn't know what to say to him. Everything came out wrong.

"Alright, how about this? Sherlock, I'm sorry I freaked out like that and said all those things. Can we please make up and be friends?"

Anderson sucked on his sweet for a while and then nodded his head at me.

"Good? Alright, here goes"

I pushed the door open and found Sherlock on his bed, dressed in his formal wear (which we only wore for important occasions.)

"What're you wearing that for?"

He turned and smiled at me awkwardly, "Mum refused to let me go out looking like a scrubbing brush. So she made me wear this"

"But why…?" it suddenly all came together, "…you're going to see your parents?"

Sherlock turned and I saw his arm was in a sling. He laughed at my expression.

"I told her I fell of the swing"

"You _liar_, Sherlock"

"Yeah, well I'm better at it then you"

I went and sat down next to him on the bed, Anderson beetling over and wedging himself between us.

"Look Sherl…" I wet my lips, "I'm sorry about what I said. I don't think you're-"

"It's okay John, I was being an idiot. I can't keep running away from my parents. I suppose I always knew I'd have to face them someday"

"But…does that mean you're leaving us?"

"Not if I can help it. Mr Lestrade said if they even _try_ to get custody of me, he'll fight no matter what. Because at the end of the day, it's about what I want isn't it?"

"I'll fight too Sherl" I said, taking his hand.

"And me" Anderson added in, holding onto his hand also.

Sherlock laughed and ruffled his hair, "There's something else John" his cheeks tinted pink a little, "Do you think…you could come with me? I don't really want to go alone"

"Sure I can" I replied, squeezing his hand tighter, "It's going to be okay Sherlock"

His eyes glassed over and he pulled us both into a hug, one which was both warm and protective at the same time. I felt safe in that hug, as if nothing could ever hurt me again. I watched little Anderson with his arms around Sherlock's waist and was glad that Sherlock had finally accepted him into his heart, not just as a brother but as a friend. I pressed my cheek against his warm, thick hair and let a tear fall.

"It's going to be okay…"


End file.
